|aorin (aorin) wrote in kinkfest,|
@ 2007-09-27 23:05:00
|Entry tags:||a: aorin, f: final fantasy xii, p: ashe/basch, september 27|
"Marks and Memories" (FFXII, Basch/Ashe)
Title: Marks and Memories
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Warnings: Implied sexual situations
Prompt: Washing away memory with sensation – “you’re not really seeing me”
“Neck,” she breathed.
He carefully nipped the side of her neck, feeling her rapid heartbeat pulsing against his dried lips, licking, moisturizing, he repeated, and harder this time, leaving a faint red mark upon her slender ivory neck. Gently, he made a diffident attempt to kiss her again, apologetic for marring her skin, she had no need for another blemish.
She was alert of what he was doing to her, his cracked lips applying sensual pressure over her damp skin, highly conscious of each kiss which sent spasms of pleasure to every inch of her tensed nubile body. She made no move to stop him, neither did she make any move to encourage him. When he lapped his warm tongue over her throat, her mind briefly wandered and indulged itself in a distant memory. Where Basch had marked her, she remembered placing two fingers on Rasler’s neck as she felt the tempo of his heart slowing, his body heat gradually fading away. Of him leaving her.
“Hand,” she said, her voice quivering.
Taking her sword hand, he kissed the tips of her fingers lightly, his tongue worshiping each slender joint, his teeth faintly nibbling each knuckle. He turned her palms skywards and frowned when he noticed the calluses splaying across the rim of her palm. His throat tightened, no amount of cure could remove the evidence of harsh arms training, and only time might allow its appearance to recede. He covered the back of her hand with his own, his lips brushing over the dried coarse skin, sketching tender words, whispering spells which wouldn’t heal.
Her left hand lay loosely on the ground, absently, she twirled the ring on her ring finger, aware of the cold metal against her thumb, contrast to her hot, slick palm against Basch’s chapped lips. Her mind briefly registered the absence of Rasler’s ring, probably tucked safely in Balthier’s pocket, or pawned away for money, lost forever. Her marriage to Rasler seemed surreal compared to the sensations she was experiencing now, here, Basch chaffing the surface of her palm, her fingers curling to cradle his cheek, and then tracing his jaw as she felt his bristly stubbles tickling her.
“Chest,” she rasped, her breath coming in short and uneven.
At her command, he released her hand, his arms at each of her side, perching his body atop her, as he dipped his head towards the cleft between her breasts. She bit her hand – her sword hand - to stifle a moan which escaped her throat. Languidly, his lips skimmed over the sensitive skin, imprinting delicate kisses and travelling slowly to the curve of her left breast, where once again, he felt the rigorous thumping of her heart at an erratic pace equal to his own.
In the back of her mind, she recalled tracing the arrow wound on Rasler’s chest, the deadly shot which took his life. She sighed softly as he ran his tongue over her nipple, peaked and painfully sensitive to the rough texture of his tongue. He turned his attention away to nip her right breast, his free hand slithering the side of her, moving swiftly over the expanse of her shoulder, and finally assiduously downwards towards her breast. She felt his fingers lining the borders, dragging to the tips of the bud, his strong muscled hand spreading and covering her bare breast.
“Lips,” she moaned, inwardly berating herself for doing so.
He stopped – his body suddenly motionless and taut, after a few moments, he exhaled an involuntary sigh, and made a motion to push himself away from her. Her hands snaked into his hair, pulling him up against her until their face leveled, their noses almost touching, and she could feel his shaky breath upon her. She held his eyes – still unfocused, hazy with desire, but also clouded with a layer of resolute reluctance – until he broke the gaze first by looking away.
“Kiss me,” she murmured to his ear, with a slight tinge of plea, while fighting the urge to nip the outer ridge of his scarred ear.
“No,” he replied, barely audible, and he shook his head, the ends of his hair prickling her cheeks.
“Basch,” her voice stern, coloured with intense displeasure at his unwillingness to comply with her demand. At that, he turned to look at her, his blue-grey eyes filled with uncertainty, and she locked gaze with him, her own eyes determined and suggestive. Moments passed, finally, she saw him lowering his head towards her and instinctively, she closed her eyes.
But instead of the anticipated coarse lips devouring her own, she felt a tender brush on her temple.
“You are not really seeing me,” he stated, his voice endearing with wisp of sadness. “You won’t see me.”
And then, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and her eyes fluttered open. Panic welled up in her when she saw him reaching for their clothes, hers first, then his. Without thinking, she lunged at him, pushing him to the ground, with an urgency that was almost savage, she pinned him by straddling his thighs, and caught his head between her hands, their faces a mere hands-breathe away.
Neither of them knew who initiated the first move, but they were soon engrossed in a passionate kiss. Heated, needy and unrestricted, emotions escalating, their hands eager to touch and please, not so much to pleasure themselves, but rather to fulfill their partner’s raw need. And only to break apart when their lungs demand the intake of much–needed air, breathing laboriously, she lifted her head to meet his gaze, his lips bruised, eyes heavy, skin flushed, and she had no doubt to find herself in the same condition, or perhaps, even worst. To her utter delight, his lips curved into a smile, a sincere smile, and one that she had often seen when she was a child, but lessen as they drifted apart, and realization dawned upon her that she had missed it badly.
In ragged breath, she leaned in, kissed him and whispered, “I do see you.”